


Adrenaline

by neitherbluenorgreen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Explosions, F/M, Fairly tame, Vaginal Sex, a bit of action, anger-issues, cursing, plain smut, woman-on-top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neitherbluenorgreen/pseuds/neitherbluenorgreen
Summary: Bucky extracts you from your undercover mission and tempers flare
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Adrenaline

His body barrels into yours, pushing you behind an upturned table. You snarl as bullets slam into the wall right where your head was a second ago. He pushes you, helps you scramble to your feet, his hand heavy on your back to remind you to stay down.  
You rush along the row of cubicles, the sound of gunfire around you. From somewhere you hear a male voice bark orders – your boss, or rather ex-boss now that your cover is blown. Just like that portion of the wall, where your corner office used to be. A metal hand grabs yours and you are pulled along behind him, towards a dead end. 

“What are you doing?” you yell, trying to stop him. It’s no use, you could as well have tried to stop the moon from rising. He drags you on, without even acknowledging your screams.  
“There’s no escape route that way!” you try again as he smashes through the door to a conference room. You look back and see a face at the far corner of the hallway, some goon send to catch bullets. Before your ex-colleagues have a clear line of fire, you’re ushered to a corner and the bulky man hoovers over you. Just before the sound of an explosion nearly blasts your eardrums, you realize that he’s shielding you and you cower, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He’s pushed into you by the force of the blast, but rises again immediately, seemingly without a scratch. Even before the dust settles, you see the sky where a row of windows used to be. Some stray bullets hit the door frame across the room, and you turn to your rescuer. Just as you are about it ask him “What now?” your world is turned upside down as he tackles you again, his hands like vices on your hips and slings you over his shoulder. Mind reeling from the change of viewpoint and the sheer absurdity of the situation - did he just manhandle you as if you weigh nothing more than a bag of golf-clubs? – you can only scream when he suddenly breaks into a run and jumps out into the open air.

Blue sky, skyscrapers, the streets far below, wind buffeting you, your voice sounding like somebody else’s (you thought you screamed, but this is a shriek, like an electrocuted banshee and your vocal cords never managed to rise that high) and gravity dragging you down. You have no time to panic as your bodies are suddenly jolted and crash into something – not the ground, that’s still too far off. His hands open and you clutch at him, your body still certain it’s the only thing that will save your life. But then you realize that you’re not moving anymore. Gentle hands pry you from the madman who just jumped out of a window with you in lieu of a parachute. You are folded into a blanket and the stable ground moves again, sideways this time. It’s an aircraft which was hoovering outside the conference room. 

“This was your plan?!” You tried to be calm, but by the end of the question you find yourself almost screaming.  
“This was not the plan,” Steve says calmly. His posture is very non-threatening, trying to calm you down, but you’re furious. “This was the contingency of the contingency-plan. We had five other agents in there to extract you in a more, ahm, covert manner.”  
“And why didn’t they?” you snarl. You can’t help yourself. You have the intel you needed, but that identity is in shreds and can never be used again. Just like some of the contacts, who are either burned now, too or will be less easy to be squeezed for information in the future.  
“Two were too far away when the warning came in. One is still out of contact, possibly because he was a plant,” Steve explains. “And it wasn’t us who bombed your office.”  
You are taken aback. Had your cover been blown even before the extraction? But why destroy his own building? Was there another faction involved?  
Steve shrugs, able to guess your thoughts. “It wasn’t a total loss and it went pretty well, didn’t it?”  
You stare at him. Then you let your eyes wander over the other members of the team. Nat is completely cool, sitting on a table with one leg dangling, one drawn up. She looks as if she might blow a gum-bubble anytime now. Sam sits properly at the same table, leaning forward, his hands folded on the desktop before him. He looks earnest and slightly worried. Clint is clearly somewhere else with his thoughts, probably counting arrows. You are a bit suspicious that he might have turned off his hearing-aid. Wanda and Pietro vanished as soon as you arrived at the compound and the only person left, who was involved, is standing by the door, arms crossed, glowering back at you. He hasn’t said a word since your impromptu flight, but he acts as if he’s the one who’s right to be pissed off.  
“I can’t deal with this right now.” You throw your hands up and shake your head. “You are crazy, all of you. I need to sleep before I can even begin to think how I can salvage this situation.”  
You get up and leave, ignoring whatever Steve tries to say, pushing past the stoic man by the door. It’s unbelievable how a gig that went so smoothly suddenly could turn into this big of a clusterfuck. You wreak your brain for signs you might have missed as you walk towards your quarters. You ditched the blanket before that farce of a de-briefing, your blazer still at the office – or rather scraps of it. Your blouse is torn and grimy, your shoes lost, your slacks probably not salvageable either. You said you’d need sleep, but adrenalin is still causing through your veins. A shower? A bath? You aren’t hungry, so… 

A dark shape behind you distracts you from further planning. Your instincts kick in – honed in countless training lessons – having you spin around and aiming for the maybe-attackers shins before you even consciously realize that there’s a person in the hallway with you. That person evades your kick and grabs your hands, turning you around almost like a salsa hand flip move. Your back is pressed against his chest and you stop your attack.  
“Barnes,” you growl.  
“Did you really thing an assassin was in the compound?” he asks in a bemused tone.  
“I wasn’t thinking. I’m still riled up and only saw a shadow. Why are you sneaking up on me anyhow?”  
You try to move away, but he holds you firmly against his body. You can feel his chuckle.  
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you,” he says, and you grumble. He probably wasn’t actively trying not to make any noise, but for such a huge frame he surely moves stealthily. You tuck against his hold again, but he doesn’t bulge.  
“Let me go, I’m not in the mood,” you say, not caring if you sound snippy.  
His lips are close to your ear as he growls: “You could be a bit more grateful for the rescue.”  
With a roar that surprises yourself, too, you break away from him, stepping back to gain some distance.  
“Rescue? Grateful?” Your voice is climbing again, but you can’t stop yourself. “You fucking threw me out of a window! After shooting your way through my workplace!”  
He’s out of patience now, too. “They had just tried to bomb you! If not for your stupid habit of chatting with that numbskull, you’d been blown to pieces and who knows what safety measures they had to make sure you’d die.”  
His voice was gravely and dark, getting lower instead of louder, but nonetheless dangerous.  
“Maybe it was a gas-leak and I could have gathered more intel!” you shoot back, trying to ignore the mocking voice in the back of your mind saying “Really? Gas-leak?”.  
He’s moving into your personal space again. Involuntarily you take step back and your shoulders meet the wall. He’s so close now you’re are almost touching. He boxes you in with one hand on both sides of your head. His blue eyes are dancing with a dangerous light.  
“That little charade of yours was coming to an end anyhow. They were just about to expose you and who knows what they’d done to you then.”  
You try to duck beneath his arms to get away, but he steps into your way, pushing you against the wall, his fingers digging into your upper arms. You growl and try to shove him away, but he’s like granite.  
“I was – I am trying to protect you,” he hisses.  
You stare at him. He’s breathing harder now, his lips parted, and you can feel his body heat. Your mind is still reeling, and you are just so mad. Not even at him, at the situation, at the destruction and – you have to admit it – at yourself for not sensing the danger. You had felt you were close to something important when everything was literally blown apart.  
“Let me go, Barnes,” you snarl, not ready to be sensible and surely not in the mood to discuss this with him in the hallway. You shove against him again.  
He snorts.  
The audacity!  
This is amusing for him? His fingers tighten on your skin and he probably saw the spark in your eyes, signaling your plan to attack, for when you throw yourself forward and try to kick him again, he uses your momentum to spin you around and you find yourself against the opposite wall, your face pressed into the cool stone and he’s behind you, your hands caught in one of his larger ones, pinned at the small of your back. You kick blindly behind you, but your foot doesn’t connect. Instead, he pushes one knee between your legs, pressing up against you. His free hand rests against the wall and he leans in, to whisper: “Are you done throwing a tantrum yet?”  
“Fuck off,” you hiss back. His leg moves and you feel his thigh spreading your legs. You’re almost sitting on his leg now and you feel his hard muscles at your core. You bite back a groan.  
“You nearly bite Stevie’s head off for mounting a rescue operation, yelling and shouting as if we abducted you from that place instead of saving your ass.”  
As he talks, his free hand wanders from your shoulder, over your waist to your hips and he pinches your ass at the end, making you yelp. You try to push your back against him, but all that your move does, is rubbing yourself against his thigh.  
“I don’t have time for your games, Barnes,” you hiss, and he suddenly steps away, making you almost stumble. You turn around and look at him, leaning against the opposite wall with a cocky grin. It takes only two steps to reach him and your nearly crash into him, your mouth against his, his arms immediately pulling you in. Your kiss is hungry and aggressive, with teeth grazing lips and his razor burn scratching across your lips. You pull at his hair and he hisses into your mouth. You try to capture his tongue, but his mouth moves across your jaw, leaving sloppy kisses on your skin. One hand squeezes your ass and you rub against his leg, that has found its way back between yours. His arms are tight around you and you feel like he could hold you if you’d cling to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his hips. You fight the urge to do just that but break away. Panting you lean against the opposite wall again.  
He watches you, his chest heaving, his metal hand clutching and unfurling again. 

You tilt your head towards the quarters and stride off, certain he will follow. He does and when you reach your door, he’s behind you, starting to tuck on your blouse from behind, his lips on your neck. You manage to enter the code and the both of you tumble inside, limbs entwined, hands frantically clutching at fabric on the search of naked skin. He backs you into the room until you hit the couch and fall down. Almost immediately, he’s on his knees in front of you, pushing your legs apart and biting your inner thigh. You hiss and tuck at his hair and he grins against your skin. His tongue leaves a wet trail on its way to the apex of your thighs. His fingers part your labia and the tip of his tongue teases it’s way along them, up to the little numb of your clit. Your tugging becomes more insistent and he chuckles, nosing your clit and the licking again. You moan, not able to find words, but he understands your frantic motions and his lips travel further up, peppering your belly and chest with kisses and little bites, until he kisses your mouth again. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he deftly lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He takes your place on the couch, placing you in his lap with you kneeling above him. His hard cock is trapped between your bodies and you rub yourself against him, needy for friction, your mind hazy with lust. His metal hand squeezes your ass, pushing you forward. With your hands on the backrest you push your breasts into his face and he eagerly sucks at your nipples, alternating between left and right, between licking, sucking and light nibbling. You whimper and try to rub against him, but his metal hand still holds tightly onto you and keeps you hovering above his lap. His other hand teases your clit with feathery brushes, only just flickering against it, running one finger over your labia and only just dipping between, then up again to circle over the already swollen bundle of nerves.  
A deep moan turns into a growl as he draws his hand away once again and you strain harder against his grip. He grins at your frown and kisses you, muffling your protest. You feel the metal digging harder into your flesh and lightly nip at his tongue. He fists his cock with his other hand, starting to brush its head against your center. The wetness of your arousal coating him draws the most delicious moans from his lips and you feel lightheaded from the need to feel him inside you. You can feel his resolve to draw this torture out weaken. He pushes the head of his cock into you and it takes your breath away, he feels thick and hot, pulsing just inside you. His hands now hold on to your hips, lowering you onto his length, agonizingly slowly. His breath stutters and he groans deeply as you take all of him in. Finally, he is fully sheathed inside of you and you both take a deep breath, your foreheads touching. You feel his girth stretching you, his need pulsating against your core. Slowly you begin to roll your hips, making both of you moan. He lets you set the tempo and you rub yourself against him, your hips undulating slowly until you feel wholly comfortable. As your movements become more urgent, his restraint begins to crumble, and you feel him push up into you. Your moans have turned into a stream of curses and pleas, edging him on. You brace yourself against the couch and meet his thrusts, each sending a jolt of pleasure through your whole body. It’s getting harder to keep a steady rhythm and you close your eyes, feeling the heat inside you flaring up, raising you higher and higher. Your nails are digging into his shoulders now and you’re both getting louder, unable to control yourselves. With each second you feel yourself closer to the pinnacle, until every nerve is flaring up and stars explode behind your closed eyelids. He’s holding you steady, even as your movements become slower, his arms wrapped around your torso. You feel his thrusts become sharper, his hold on you tighter. You welcome his support as your orgasm washes away all tension from your body and you cling to him as he chases his own release.  
Exhausted, the two of you stay wrapped around each other until your breathing becomes steadier again. You kiss him languidly and when your legs seem stable enough to support you, you get up to go to the bathroom. With heavy lidded eyes, he watches you, a content smile on his lips. 

Later, lying in your bed with his arms around you, you sigh happily.  
“I’m sorry for flying off the handle like that,” you murmur.  
“At first, I was mad, too,” he replies. “All the worry for you during the last weeks and the lack of contact and on top being told that there’s probably a bomb in your desk…” He pauses and clears his throat. After a moment he continues, his voice playful: “And as a thank you for saving you, I get yelled at.”  
You huff, but there’s no real bite in it. “Though the last months were stressful, I guess I wasn’t used to the adrenalin rush of a combat,” you muse. “I couldn’t channel the fear and anger properly.”  
“Yes,” he agrees and there’s a grin in his voice. “When you rage-quit the de-briefing, I knew I’d had to fuck it out of you. “  
You splutter with indignation, but it turns into a laugh quickly.  
“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” you murmur sleepily.  
“It’s always a pleasure, Mrs. Barnes,” he replies.


End file.
